


Not Anymore

by CaraLea



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Econowives, F/M, Guardians of the Faithful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-18 03:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12379728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraLea/pseuds/CaraLea
Summary: I looked at Matt in sadness.  I felt as if the sanctity of our marriage was under attack. I was demoted to being his Econowife, and no more.  All that we had fought for, to stay together and be together was now a lot harder than it’d been  Had we really succeeded?  I knew that nothing had really changed.  But somehow, everything was different. He was my Husband.  But I was no longer his Wife.





	1. 01 Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. This is my new fanfiction about The Handmaid's Tale, with elements from both the book and the show. The characters are based off of real people, so I hope you like it! Feel free to leave reviews!

I used to love the smell of the rain. I'd run barefoot on the grassy hill, running my hand through the low-hanging branches on the trees to feel the water splatter. It was my goal to get as muddy as possible. And then, at the end of the day, when my mother was cleaning me up, I'd open my old bedroom window just to smell it. The plants would come into full bloom after the storm was up, brightening my daily life with their bright leaves and pungent odors.

Sometimes I wonder…when this storm lets up, will I be in bloom?

…

It is raining outside. The smell of wet concrete fills my nostrils as I look at it. The clouds are low, heavy and churning. I stand outside, underneath the concrete entry just outside the door to the apartment complex. Matt has the umbrella today. Quietly I pull the hood of my cloak, but there is no hope; I will definitely be getting wet today. I think about how stupid I must look right now. Normally I would never have put dark green, powder blue, and blood red together, but there you have it.

"We waiting on Jennifer again?" said a quiet, familiar voice. I turn my head and see Lisa exiting the building, not greeting me with so much as a look but rather observing the clouds herself.

"Yeah," I answer just as quiet. "She's always late." She only shrugs in response.

Lisa is my older sister. Somehow that didn't stop her from being shorter than me. It wasn't always this way. When we were kids, I strived to be like her. She was always smiling, telling me long-winded stories that she'd make up, sometimes on the spot. Before, she was an author, and a damn good one. Now she wasn't even allowed to read.

We look alike. She has shorter hair, but it was the exact same shade of strawberry blonde, with the exact same curls. Her jaw is more rounded while mine is more curt. Her eyes are brighter than mine, and they used to glow. The only difference is in our clothing. We have on the same outfit: A white-topped long-sleeved dress, with long alternating stripes of green, blue, and red down the thick full skirt. A pincloak with matching stripes and black netted snoods over our blonde curls. Both our outfits are standard issue, and very worn.

The only difference is in the patches. I patch my dresses with white whenever I have a ripped seam or a hole. Lisa patches hers with powder blue. It's a risk, even for her. Her husband is a  _Guardian_ , and she is dearly hoping he'll be promoted so she could be included with the Wives. Even before, she was always worried about being part of the "in-crowd". Fitting in is a big deal to her, even if it is with a bunch of pious privileged bitches.

Jennifer comes out of the building and thank God she has an umbrella. The three of us crowd underneath it and begin our journey. We each walk with our hands clutched around our tokens in our pockets, alongside our passes and our government issued identification card. The fact that we have to carry ID cards doesn't really bother me. Before, we had to. It's the passes that bother me. We are not even allowed to go grocery shopping without permission. Women are not to even carry money anymore. It used to be we all worked hard to earn our keep. Now, our husbands work hard to earn the money, which they trade for the tokens us ladies use to shop. I don't know how that works. Matt tried to explain it to me once, but I was never an auditory learner, and since I wasn't able to complete the transactions myself (or even see a transaction take place) I am not entirely certain how they divvy up who gets what tokens and when.

We stop at the fabric store first. Jennifer has a token for red thread, she must have a rip in the seam of her skirt, which she hands over to the Guardian without looking at him. He provides her with the thread and we go on. From there we head into the market. I clutch my tokens in my pocket. I know exactly what I'm going to get: rice, potatoes, an assortment of herbs including lavender, cinnamon and curry powder, and finally chicken. Matt had managed to snag a chicken token from the shop. The others stare at me as I take the carefully wrapped chicken from the butcher. Meat is a rarity, even for the elite. For someone like me…it is incredibly difficult to manage even the scrawniest of birds. But this meat is thick and juicy, and I am happy with it. Tonight is a special dinner.

…

We get back to our building, soaking wet and ready for the warmth that awaits us inside. Lisa nods as she disappears down the first floor corridor towards her suite she shares alone with her husband, Blake. She disappears almost silently every day, although Jennifer and I do not take it personally. Lisa has a hard life, we both know. She was assigned to marry Craig, as was Jennifer to Dominic. Both Guardians showed promise for the future, and were thus assigned marriage mates that had the potential to bring them children. But Lisa has a harder time with it for some reason. Maybe it's because she tries too hard to make her life the picture perfect world she originally wanted as a kid, even though things are so different now. At least Jennifer acknowledges that her marriage isn't based on anything resembling love, and cares not for it. As long as she and her husband have a working partnership, she can get by.

One the third floor Jennifer turns to me. "Under His eye," she says solemnly. It is our standard parting.

"Under His eye," I repeat in a soft voice. I look for the Jennifer I used to know, the fun-loving girl I grew up with before. But instead I see the determined, hard-faced girl she'd become since the move. She is the most determined girl I know, the most wanting to survive. I don't see hope and I don't think I need to. Jennifer doesn't need hope to make it in the world we now live in. It is quite shocking because the old Jennifer had hope for a better future every day. I wonder if it got squashed out of her, or if she simply moved on from such trivialities. I notice that she doesn't comment on the date. Is this out of jealousy or because she simply forgot?

My apartment is on the fourth floor. It is small, but I like it just the same. The one wall is green, the rest white. The main area is a living space with a combined kitchen and dining area. A wall juts out where the kitchen counters and sink is, with the fridge being against the edge of the wall and the stove being next to the hallway. The back of the wall is a bathroom area, with cupboards and two sinks, a water closet and a washroom with a shower. Branching off the hall are two bedrooms, one for Matt and me, one for my parents. All in all, a small square space, quaint and somehow airy. It doesn't feel as small as it is. I like it.

"Hi mom," I say as I push the door close behind me. I notice immediately that she has lit a fire in the wood stove. Matthew won't like that. He likes the cold over the heat.

My mom is sitting on the couch with her feet up. Her arthritis is why I do the shopping rather than her. She wore a white nightgown today. Must be feeling unwell to have skipped her daily walk. Either than or she noticed the rain.

"Blessed day," she muttered, looking over at me. "I got the bread started for you."

No wonder for the fire. She'd been baking bread. Mom's bread is the best. When she can get her hands on it, she always puts beer in the bread part in place of the yeast, part in place of the water for the dough. It's Matt's favorite, as well as mine. We have beer today.

"Praised be," I said back feelingly. "Thank you." My mom rolled her eyes and turned back to her book. She was crazy reckless with her reading happy, considering the Law. Guardians didn't need special permission to come into the home. What if someone came over and saw her with it out? Sure, dad had worked hard to trade goods for those books, and we'd all known it was really for her and not him (because he hates reading), but did she have to do it so openly?

I hear the clock bells chime 3 o'clock. I don't have much time. Matt will be home in only two hours.

I get to work, chopping the chicken near haphazardly as I start the stovetop. While it is browning in the skillet I begin to put away the lunch dishes, wiping the counters and pulling out various ingredients from the cupboards and my shopping bags. Mother rises from her seat and floats over to help out, polishing the dining table with a wet cloth and putting on the rice. I learned everything I know about cooking from her. I'd like to say it was from Matt, who enjoys cooking way more than any of us but the truth is he never really taught me much, just did all the work himself.

My dad comes in around 4:30, looking at the small plate we'd set aside for him and mother. "Praised be," he says eyeballing it. He washes his hands quickly and disappears into their shared room with his plate. My mother nods to me and follows him with her book.

I have just lit the last candle when the door clicks, signifying a key in the lock. I stand with my hands behind my back, waiting patiently on the outside and distinctly buzzing at the same time.

Matt comes in the door, taking off his shoes first and setting them neatly on the shoe rack next to my boots. He next hangs his jacket next to my cloak, and fixes his hat overtop his jacket. He is still wearing his chef's shirt underneath. The umbrella goes into the umbrella stand where it will drip all of the rain collected on the walk back.

I pay more attention to  _him_  though. His sea green eyes that haven't yet noticed me waiting for him, the rain caught in his long curls of mousy brown hair. Mostly his beard, which is one of my favorite parts of him. It curls into ringlets against his face. A lot of men in today's age liked to keep their face clean-shaven, but not my Matthew. It is a symbol, I think, that society can't beat him down. A small act of social defiance that Matthew would have done even in the time of old. He has changed over the years, but not much.

Finally his eyes lift to where I am standing, waiting for him. He takes a deep breath and smells the hard work I've been doing for the last two hours. His smile blooms over his face, looking as pleased as ever as he can tell the effort I've put into this. Candles lit around the apartment, out of necessity because it is dark out but also for ambiance. Two still warm plates on the dining table, curry chicken in rice with steamed cinnamon apples. Didn't have the time to make a pie, though he might have liked that more. Baked potato slices with pepper on them more than made up for it though. It is an expensive meal. No doubt hard months of long hours went into getting the money for these tokens.

But by the look on his face it was all well worth it. "Hey baby," he says to me, looking at me. "What's all this?"

I smile back. I can't help it. His mere presence makes me do it. "Happy anniversary baby," I breathe.


	2. 02 Five Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only questionable chapter for me so far v_v Hope it works!

My life didn't change the first time I saw him. It wasn't some miracle, like an honest attraction or love at first sight. In fact, I can't remember the first words I spoke to him. Something stupid along the lines of my exciting new college major that I spilled to him first because I thought I knew him but it turns out he just looks extraordinarily like his sister.

I didn't speak to him again for two years other than an occasional and cheerful hello if I felt like it. I usually didn't. I had other things on my mind.

When I near failed differential equations and learned I had to retake it I decided to get a tutor. Turns out Matt was a math major.

…

I convinced him to go see the jazz band with me. Although I had long since dropped the music major I still went to see concerts occasionally. And Matt had been complaining a lot about having no social life and somehow the  _jazz concert_  seemed like a good way to make up for taking up all his free time. To this day I don't know why he said yes.

When the announcer came on we both knew we were in for a real treat. The concert was old-timey and actually  _fun_. The music was something we could both dance to, if we weren't seated. "Give a round of applause to the PSU jazz band!" the announcer said cheerfully. Matt turned his head and noticed me moving my arms about wildly while clapping.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking both confused and amused at the same time.

"I thought they deserved more than a round of applause," I told him. "So I'm giving them a dodecahedron of applause."

His eyes were aglow with their own light.

…

I knew by the end of the semester I had him wrapped around my fingers. I could get him to have sex with me easily, all I had to do was ask. I had gone through a bad breakup the year before and wasn't really in a hurry to start again.

I asked anyway.

…

We were together in bed. By now we knew each others bodies better than we knew our own. He knew exactly how to curl his fingers to make me shudder, I knew how to run my lips against his chest to make him go harder. When he pushed into me, I lifted up to meet him. We moved together, in tandem. He sweated while I gasped.

We were panting together, in sync this time like any other. I opened my eyes and looked at him, the way his face was curled up as he was getting ready to come. I knew he enjoyed me and I enjoyed him. We still did homework together though I had long since passed differential equations. I brought my hand up to cup his cheek, lifted my lips to his though he couldn't effectively respond, distracted as he was.

"I think I love you," I whispered. He opened his eyes as he came.

Later as we were laying together, having cleaned up and now just wanted that post-sex cuddle, he leaned in to put his lips against my neck. "I know I love you," he said back.

…

Graduation was coming up. I was half a year ahead of him, but I would be walking a whole year ahead of him. Some strange byproduct of having to retake a class. What did I care? That meant more time with him. That's what really mattered anymore.

It wasn't a romantic night by any means. I was sitting at my apartment table, having made easy mac and was watching a celebrity chef chew out his workers on television for comedy. Those poor line-cooks. Of course they'd signed up for it but still.

I'd always wanted it to be romantic. To be a surprise, like going to a restaurant and seeing a ring in my champagne glass. It happened instead when I was falling asleep. "We should get married," I murmured. "Once you're done here."

"If I asked, would you say yes?" he answered. I simply nodded.

That was it. He got down on one knee right there and whispered my full name. I blinked at him as he asked the question. "Will you be my wife?"

"Yeah," I breathed.

…

The political climate changed. I guess it wasn't as abrupt as I thought looking back but at the time it seemed so sudden. One day everything was normal, the next they were questioning women's right to vote. I argued that it was stupid, like anyone else would. It  _was_  stupid. Everything about the world was stupid.

There was more talk on the news about fertility rates. Fewer and fewer women were able to carry to term. More men were coming up sterile in fertility tests. A common medicine, around since the early 1900s, found to have caused increased infertility. It was heavy, to say the least.

Matt's sister, Abigail, lost her child at six months. Six months along and she began to convulse one day. Found out she had pre-eclampsia turned full eclampsia. She almost died.

They had her son, James, cremated. She cried for months. My own mother had gone through a similar situation, so I empathized.

"It could happen to us," I told Matt one night. He looked around at me. "I could lose a child too. My mom lost two. And her mom before her."

"That's okay," he said back. "Whatever the world throws us, we'll make it.

…

We married on the beach. I was adamant about this, something about the ocean, the way it was endless to tiny me, it always struck me, so I wanted to see it when I made my vows. We got our marriage license signed by the judge, who legally married us, then had our ceremony on the beach where we said our promises to each other.

"I promise to put you first," I told him. "I promise to keep your needs ahead of mine. To make sure that you know, daily, that you are loved."

"I promise to choose you always, even if somebody better comes along," he told me.

My parents didn't think that was romantic but I cried tears of joy rather than frustration.

…

Shit went down the drain real fast. Like in a day. Well really more like a week but still. A week to change everything.

A hostile attack, at first said to be terrorists. They took out congress, they took out the justices, they took out the senate. The president. The vice president. All of them dead.

There were whispers, though nobody believed them, nobody  _wanted_  to believe them, that it was really an inside job. The country was in shambles. They declared Marshal Law.

"Who  _are_  they?" I asked Matt one day. "Who is running this country now?"

It was one of the first times I'd seen him look truly worried. "I don't know," he said. "But I think we should be prepared."

…

We lay together in the darkness. It has been five years. Five years since we were together on that beach. Five years since he vowed to love me more than anyone, even if they happened to be better than me. So much has changed. Everything's changed. Nothing's changed.

"It's showers tomorrow," I whisper to him because I know he is still awake. His head turns sharply.

"Are you trying to say something?"

I lift my brows innocently. "I'm only saying that tomorrow we're gonna get clean. That's all."

He rolls over, pulling himself towards me by gripping my neck. He doesn't realize he's doing this, so I don't argue though I wince in pain. His lips are on my cheek. "What?" he says. "What are you trying to say?"

I giggle. We begin to touch each other's bare bodies in the dark. We sleep naked for these moments. These spontaneous moments of pure fun and adrenaline. Matt and I have sex  _often_. It is the one thing we brought to this new world, besides each other. We cling to it like a lifeline, like the pill they give to make you sane. It is a craving we have for each other's bodies. His tongue on my lips, my hand tweaking his nipple.

He is my husband. I have sex with him because I can. It is the only freedom I have left.


	3. 03 Demoted

Matt and I rise for the morning, me groaning against his chest that his alarm clock is way too loud. He has one of those old fashioned ones, with the bells that ring when it goes off and it is the loudest thing in the world, especially since he keeps it on a nightstand across the room and takes forever to get up and turn it off.

Our building is carefully regulated. In the time before, we wasted a lot, they say. A lot of electricity, a lot of water, a lot of food, a literal ton of garbage thrown into the oceans and into landfills that could burn for eternity.

They don't let us waste anymore. The elite get electricity. The bourgeoisie gets unlimited water supplies. The higher ups get to waste. Not much but they do. Not us. We have carefully monitored times. We get wood ovens and gas stoves. We get a refrigerator, yes, but we're supposed to turn it off if we have nothing to store in it. We get showers twice a week, by floor. Otherwise, we are limited in how much water we are allowed to use.

Today is floor four's 1st shower day of the week. It would be another three until our next. We had fifteen minutes per person in the suite. Matt and I took ours together, so that my mother and father could have a little longer in theirs.

Matt and I enjoy our combined shower time for different reasons. I like the warmth of the water, the smell of his soap, I enjoy the way the water makes him look like a different person. He likes seeing the soap run down my body, the way I scrunch my eyes when the shampoo drips down my cheeks. And my bare body. He likes any time we are naked together and I must say, I like it too.

…

I was required to take a fertility test. This was after the Law passed saying I couldn't work anymore at my fancy job working for an IT company. This was after my money was taken and handed over to Matt since my account had been shut down. We already knew that They were changing Marshal Law into something different, something more sinister.

It was a pinprick, followed by a tensing in my arm that wasn't from my muscles. I saw the vial fill with dark red, followed by a quick exchange and then another vial filled. Matt was with me, holding my other hand. "Try not to look," he said quietly. I looked at him instead.

They took the two vials away with my blood and told us simply to wait for a phone call. They'd let us know later how the results turned out.

…

After yesterday's rain, today is sunny. The smell does not linger. I stand outside and look around. Today is just a walking day for me. We do not have need for very much since yesterday. There are plenty of leftovers still in the fridge and we have oatmeal. Matt hates it but what can I do?

Mother has gone with Lisa today, the two of them down by The Wall to pray. I did not wish to accompany them. I don't want to see what's there, and I know that mom will describe it to me anyway unless something really bad is there. It's if she didn't talk about it that I'd be worried.

Jennifer comes out of the building carrying her wicker basket. "Blessed day," she greets me. Her dark blue eyes scan the outside, not looking for anything in particular but just looking. She used to do that, even when we were kids. "We have been sent good weather."

"Yes," I respond. "And I receive it with joy."

We begin walking, and I let her take the lead. I have some tokens with me that father gave me. I am to get mom more yarn, if I have the time. Mom hates knitting but she needs to work out the pain in her hands, father always says. He's probably not wrong. So I tell Jennifer that as we walk.

"Okay," she answers. "I need to get some things from the market if that's okay."

"Of course," I answer.

We pass into the sea of shoppers. Mostly the striped women, like us, but a blossom of green Martha's are out, and a stain of red Handmaids are out as well. There is the occasional spot of blue interwoven amongst the shoppers, but they do not walk if they can help it. The elite are driven where they need to go.

…

I sat in a conference room with three men, two of them guards in black uniforms. Across from me was a man in a suit, writing down my every word on a typewriter of all things. I feel like I am in an interrogation room. I was in an interrogation room once, when I was fourteen, after a cruel prank at my high school turned into something very bad. I had been the victim of an earthshattering crime, and I'd been terrified out my wits when I'd been in the station, giving my report to an officer next to where shackles were clearly locked to my chair. I myself hadn't been as trapped then as I was at that moment, watching the man slowly figure out the machine he was using.

"You tested fertile," he began as simple as that. "And you have options."

"What options?" I asked, but he ignored me.

"Are you married?"

"Yes."

"Not a problem," he answered, almost under his breath. My own breathing picked up. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Two."

His eyes were alight as he looked at me. "Have you ever had children before?"

I shook my head, ears ringing. "No."

"Have you ever miscarried?"

"No."

"Have you ever gotten pregnant?"

"No."

He was now looking at me like I was a piece of meat. An animal for slaughter.

"Have you ever had any surgeries?"

"I had to get stitches once."

"Where?" His eyes appraised me, as if looking for any scars.

"My back. I fell of the monkey bars."

His eyes went back to the paper he was typing. Why was he typing this? Why didn't he just write his answers down on the questionnaire I could see right in front of him?

"Have you ever been sick with a major illness?"

"I have mono." He waved this off. "No."

"Have you ever had an STD?"

This question was beyond personal, and I was glad to be able to answer honestly and still not be embarrassed. "No."

"Any family history of birth defects?"

"Not exactly…"

"What?" He looks at me, eyes like lasers. I would know. I've worked with lasers that are duller than the look he gave me.

"My mom had two miscarriages," I admit. "And my grandmother had three. My sister had one."

He stares at me for a long minute. I don't know why I felt the need to share that information. Some sneaking suspicion that it was important to say. I couldn't place where this intuition came from, but I'm infinitely glad now I listened to it.

After what seemed like eternity he finally turned away, shuffling his papers and not so much as glancing back up at me. "You may go."

…

"Did you hear that Ofgary had her baby?" Jennifer says conversationally as we make our way back to the building. I am surprised by this, because usually Lisa is the one to bring this kind of topic up. However I guess that any news of a successful birthing is good news.

"No, I didn't. Was it healthy?"

"A healthy bouncing boy," she said, smiling for the first time in what felt like ages. It changed her entire demeanor. Almost like a glimpse into the past. "Dom told me about it last night at dinner. He was there."

"Oh was he?"

"Yeah, on guard duty."

We both laughed at that because what else would a Guardian be doing?

We get back into the apartment and Jennifer actually looks kind of cheerful as we say our goodbyes. "Under His eye."

…

Us women were gathered under the television, watching the screen apprehensively. They'd started a new rule. This one was, at the time, more ridiculous than ever. A new dress code for the new class of women. The "less faithful" do not get wives. We were to be called Econowives. Since we were lower class, we were supposed to complete the tasks normally assigned to three different classes of women, and were thus supposed to wear the colors of all three in striped dresses. Jennifer and I exchanged bewildered glances at the news.

The truth is, we were not worthy of being called Wives anymore. That was for the elite only, the upper class, the bourgeoisie. As the spouse of a chef, I wasn't exactly one of the Commanders of the Faithful class. Only those of certain status were allowed to have Wives.

I looked at Matt in sadness. I felt as if the sanctity of our marriage was under attack. I was demoted to being his Econowife, and no more. All that we had fought for, to stay together and be together was now a lot harder than it'd been Had we really succeeded? I knew that nothing had really changed. But somehow, everything was different. He was my Husband. But I was no longer his Wife.


End file.
